Redbeard
by TheHeartOfTheDetective
Summary: Kid!Lock Sherlock receives the best gift he could ever ask for: A dog.
1. Chapter 1 – Bullied

December 24, 1985. Eight-year-old Sherlock Holmes drug himself to bed again. He thought that on break, he wouldn't get bullied, but he was wrong. The children in the neighborhood still found ways to torment him, mentally and physically. He lost count of how many bruises, which seemed to be permanent marks on his sides and stomach, he hid from his parents. Only his brother, Mycroft, knew, but of course, he never did anything.

_"__Oh grow up, Sherlock," _Mycroft had told him_. "You're never going to stop being bullied if you don't quit whining about it all the time. You're so stupid."_

Mycroft was older then Sherlock. Mycroft was fifteen years old. He never played with him, and he was way smarter then Sherlock. Although they almost never hung out together, Mycroft was the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock had. All anyone else ever did was bully Sherlock. They would take him away from his house during the day and kick him to the ground. They would kick and punch him until he was bruised in every place that was not visible. They were smart enough not to leave visible marks but still, Sherlock thought, they were morons compared to him and Mycroft. Sherlock had no idea why they were so cruel to him. Was it because he was smart? Maybe it was because he was different.

It was definitely because he was different.

Normal children can't stand different. All they think is right is other children who play with dolls and toys. All they will hang out with are children just like them, and of course Sherlock wasn't like them. Sherlock was far more intelligent, and sometimes it slipped his mouth, but he tried not to brag so much.

Of course, it's not just him who is different. He's not the only person in his family to be bullied. Mycroft was bullied too, still was. Although, Mycroft took it better than Sherlock; Mycroft just chose to ignore people entirely, so he never took a beating. Sherlock admired him for that. Sometimes, he wished he were his brother.

Sometimes, he wished he were normal.

And as he dragged himself into bed, he wished for nothing more then to not wake up in the morning, but tomorrow is Christmas, and he knew that that was something he shouldn't think about. Although he hated Christmas, he had to spend time with his family, for his parents' sake.

And he closed his eyes, tossing and turning every few minutes until he finally was able to fall asleep. He dreamed of having a friend, just one. Oh, how he wished he weren't so alone. He wished he could just have one friend.

But of course, that could never happen, could it?


	2. Chapter 2 – The Gift

"Sherlock," Mycroft said, entering his little brother's bedroom on Christmas morning. "Mother wants us all in the sitting room."

Sherlock sat up in his bed, and rubbed his eyes. After a moment he spoke, "I don't understand Christmas. We all sit around a plastic tree all morning and give each other boxes wrapped in paper, which all hold something none of us want, like ugly jumpers only meant to be worn at Christmas. We all pretend to be happy and at the end of the day, we have stuffed ourselves enough to make us sick. There is no point to any of this."

"Well," Mycroft said. "Maybe this year will be different."

"Balance of probability." Sherlock said.

"Just come on, or Mummy will be upset with you."

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his older brother, who gave him a glare and then turned away and walked out of his room. Sherlock threw his blankets off of himself, and got out of bed. He took a moment to try to calm down his hatred towards Christmas, trying to make this as pleasant as possible, but getting nowhere, he walked out of his room and to the sitting room. When he got to the sitting room, what he saw under the tree almost made him scream with joy.

A dog.

Sherlock's eyes lit up as he got down on his knees and patted his lap. A big, beautiful dog, and Irish Setter to be exact, lay under the Christmas tree. Its fur was long, and reddish brown. Its long pink tongue hung out of its mouth as it panted. There was a red bow wrapped around its neck, like a collar. It turned its head towards Sherlock, and stood up, running towards him and knocking him backwards. Sherlock laughed as the dog licked his face.

"I think he likes you." Sherlock's mother said from behind him, smiling.

"I believe he does." Said his father.

"I agree," Sherlock said between laughs. "I know I like him."

His mother laughed, and his father picked the dog up off of Sherlock. Sherlock sat up and pet the dogs head.

"We've been thinking about getting you a dog for awhile now…" His father said.

"But none of them caught our eye like this one did." His mother finished.

"Thank you so much!" Sherlock thanked his parents.

"I'm glad you like him." His mother said.

"He still needs a name." His father said, giving Sherlock a smile.

Sherlock thought for a moment, but it didn't take him long to figure out the perfect name.

"Redbeard!" Sherlock said happily.

"Redbeard?" His parents said in his unison.

Mycroft, who had been sitting on the sofa, rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course it is Redbeard." He said.

"Why Redbeard, Sherlock?" His mother asked.

"Because that's what a pirate would be named!" Sherlock explained, laughing again as the dog licked his cheek.

"Obviously…" Mycroft trailed. Sherlock wanted to be a pirate, so of course his dog would have a pirate's name.

"Mycroft," His mother scolded. "Behave yourself!" Mycroft smiled, and his mother went to sit on the floor with Sherlock, his father following soon after.

"Now, there are responsibilities." Sherlock's father told him.

"You will be responsible for taking care of Redbeard," His mother said. "You'll have to feed him, give him bathes, train him…"

"Yes," Sherlock said, his smile still not vanishing. "Of course, mother."


	3. Chapter 3 – Caring Is Not An Advantage

"Sit!" Sherlock commanded.

Redbeard stood still, his head slightly cocked. Mycroft stood in the entry of Sherlock's bedroom, watching his little brother.

"Come on Redbeard! Sit!" Sherlock commanded. The dog cocked his head more, and Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed. "Okay, maybe tomorrow."

"You need to make it want to sit." Mycroft told him.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Sherlock asked.

"Hold a treat, and don't let him have it until he sits."

"Do we have any?"

Mycroft takes a dog biscuit out of his pocket, and tosses it to Sherlock. Sherlock holds it in his hand, and shows it to Redbeard, who starts jumping.

"Sit!" Sherlock commanded. Redbeard continued to jump.

"Hold it behind your back." Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock did as Mycroft said, and Redbeard stopped jumping. Sherlock commanded him to sit again, and Redbeard just stared at him. After a moment, he sat down.

"Good boy!" Sherlock praised, giving the dog the treat. Redbeard happily accepted it and lay down, holding the biscuit between his front paws as he chewed on it. Mycroft half smiled as he saw how happy his little brother was. Sherlock didn't notice though, he just pet his dog's head and Mycroft left the room.

* * *

"Mikey," Mycroft's mother asked as he entered the sitting room. "Where's Sherlock?"

"Where do you think?" Mycroft asked.

"Is he in his room with Redbeard?" His father asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "Has he even left his room since yesterday morning?"

"A few times," His mother said. "But Redbeard was always with him."

"He really loves that dog." His father said.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "And one day, he'll regret it."

"Why would he?" His father asked.

"Because caring is not an advantage, father," Mycroft told him, quietly so Sherlock wouldn't hear if he left his room. "Not even animals live forever. One day, Sherlock is going to find that out, and it's going to hurt him."

"Mike!" His mother scolded. "Let's not think about that."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, mother," Mycroft said. "If you could just struggle to the end, that would be lovely."

"Mycroft," His father sighed. "Why would you think like that?"

"Remember Harrison?" Mycroft asked.

"You were five Mycroft." His mother said. "You probably barely remember that bloody cat."

"Well, I do remember. I just don't want Sherlock to go through that pain."

"You were five."

"Yes, I was."

"Everything will be fine, Mycroft. Why don't you go play with Sherlock and Redbeard? You almost never play with him anymore."

"I'll pass." At that, Mycroft walked out of the room, and his mother let out an exasperated sigh.


	4. Chapter 4 – Redbeard's First Bath

"Redbeard!" Sherlock nearly shouted.

Redbeard stood in the bathtub, drenched in water. He shook, soapy water transferring from his fur to the young boy's clothing. Sherlock laughed as he pressed his hands against Redbeard in an attempt to stop him.

"You are a mess," Sherlock told his pet. "Aren't you?"

The dog happily wagged his tail, and Sherlock ran the water in the tub. Redbeard backed away from the water, but Sherlock pushed him under it. Redbeard shook again, and Sherlock covered his eyes, laughing.

"Sherlock," Mycroft stopped as he walked past the bathroom. "You're making a mess. Mother will not be happy."

"It wasn't me! It was Redbeard!" Sherlock told his older brother.

"And who decided to bathe him?" Mycroft asked. "They are the _real_ cause of this mess."

"You?" Sherlock said. "Mum and Dad as well. You lot told me he needed a bath."

"And right we were. The tub is basically mud." Mycroft complained. "You do have plans for cleaning up, don't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mycroft."

"Good." Mycroft turned to leave, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Hand me a towel." Sherlock said.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please hand me a towel, brother dear."

Mycroft picked a white towel off of a shelf and walked over to his brother. He held out the towel to Sherlock, who took it. As Mycroft turned to leave, Redbeard shook once more and this time drenched Mycroft. Mycroft gasped, and Sherlock fell on his back, laughing. Mycroft frowned at Sherlock as he sat back up.

"That bloody dog." Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock ignored his brother and finished rinsing the soap out of Redbeard's coat, grinning. Mycroft stormed out of the bathroom, muttering other insults to the dog. Sherlock didn't care about the comments his brother made. He loved Redbeard, and he was the best friend he could ever ask for.


	5. Chapter 5 – Sherlock Takes A Walk

Sherlock looked down at his trousers, which were covered in mud. Redbeard had decided to take Sherlock for a walk.

And Sherlock always thought it was the other way round.

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest and looked down, narrowing his eyes at his dog, who sat in front of him, panting with his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and his tail wagging at the speed of light.

He looked so innocent.

Sherlock tried to continue glaring at his dog, scolding him with just a look, but as soon as Redbeard stood up and jumped on his master, Sherlock let out a laugh, his back hitting the ground with a thud. Redbeard licked Sherlock's face, making sure that not an inch of it was left unmarked. How could you stay mad at that?

"Sherlock." He was interrupted by Mycroft's voice.

Sherlock turned his head, and saw his brother's figure standing next to him.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked between laughs.

"Mother was worried when she heard you screaming, and asked me to check on you." He said. He glared down at his brother, and shook his head. "And what a sight this is."

Sherlock laughed. "Redbeard decided to take me for a walk instead."

"And you let him?"

"There wasn't really much I could do."

Mycroft smiled. "Mother will be angry. You've ruined your best pair of trousers."

"So what?" Sherlock said, frowning as he sat up, Redbeard side stepping off of his stomach. "They're just trousers. We can buy more."

"We _just_ bought those."

"Well, buy more!"

Mycroft shook his head with a sigh. "Sherlock, you need to learn to train that bloody dog of yours."

"I will!" Sherlock defended. "It will just take some time! I've only just gotten him."

Mycroft turned his back to his little brother. "Better sooner than later." He walked back to the door of his home, and Sherlock turned to Redbeard, who gave him a lick on the cheek.

Sherlock smiled, and stood up, grabbing Redbeard's leash. "Come on boy, let's run a bit more.

Redbeard took off, Sherlock stumbling to catch up before falling and being dragged through the muddy yard once again, his laughter never stopping.


End file.
